Monthly Archives: September 2012

Poem Sleep

If you are tired Write anyway. I am falling asleep to the song of myself again. So many things get written In so many bedrooms Before sleep. I was twelve once And still love a dark room. There is religion … Continue reading

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In Silence

I guess there are always a thousand things. In the city, down the mountain, in the city. I didn’t want to throw away a good word, so I reused it on you. It isn’t that I am unkind, you weren’t … Continue reading

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The Next Line

I love hearing you read. I never know the answers before you say them. Something about silence in a poem and I’m home. My mother pulls her robe closer to her body. She is smaller than I am. I tell … Continue reading

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White Tents on Mulberry

7:37 am on Mulberry Street. September 20 or 21, 2012. Some days it’s hard to know what day it is. San Genarro should be over, but the street is still lined with white plastic tents; every block the same variety … Continue reading

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While I Wait

“I’m doing well, but I’ve started smoking again. Being home, you know? Linda hasn’t changed.” I shouldn’t be listening to table 73 for snatches of conversation I can use to write poetry, but it feels like we are serving each … Continue reading

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Police Report Wednesday

Walking home on 14th street I wonder If every poet Loves Duane Reade the way that I do. When I head south on 4th Avenue, against my better judgement, I check my phone to see who hasn’t called. The light … Continue reading

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9:03, Wednesday. La Colombe iced coffee, sharing a table with three beautiful Germans (Austrians?) Two hours ago I was picking these sweatpants out in the dark of my room. Twelve years ago today I was just starting to believe in … Continue reading

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How I put myself to sleep.

I’m more awake than I should be. No one can make my eyes stand out, But the moon never lies. I’ve got lists, and history is coming Full circle. Clean the cupboards, fold up the map. If it isn’t a … Continue reading

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Down the Hudson

There are a thousand ways To stop a train. I want to unpack There are a lot of things I want. This morning fog clung to the darkest parts Of the Catskills while I dressed In the same clothes I … Continue reading

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Long Grass In the Woods

I am back at the restaurant where the mirror shattered. Take me to the sanctuary that you made in me. I am made in the image of a light switch, an orange rind, a gas can. I can hardly sleep … Continue reading

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